


Wisdom

by AlleiraDayne



Series: Dragon Age Origins Verse [7]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Awkward Romance, Eventual Romance, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Love, Romance, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-02-01 12:13:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12704766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlleiraDayne/pseuds/AlleiraDayne
Summary: Wynne gets under Alistair's skin. But it's worth it.





	Wisdom

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/138010791@N02/25010209717/in/album-72157662981371817/)

“I do not.”

Wynne regarded him with a scowl. “Do not what, Alistair? There is plenty you do not do.”

Alistair grunted, but did not retort. “Stare. At _her_.”

Across the camp Wynne looked to Amodisia laughing with Morrigan, then returned to him with her familiar wry smile. “You do.”

“I do not,” he insisted. “I do not stare at her… at her _backside_.”

Wynne laughed again, a soft chuckle through her nose. “Maker’s breath boy, you stare at her in all manner of ways. When she speaks, your eyes don’t leave her lips. When she sits atop her horse, you keep careful watch of her steed. When she strikes camp, you ensure she never lifts anything too heavy. And when she stares at you with longing, you catch her, drowning in her bright green eyes, and you don’t let go until she looks away, embarrassed.”

“I—” Alistair started, but fell silent the moment he turned to find Amodisia alone by the fire and staring across the camp at him, Morrigan nowhere to be found. His heart leaped to his throat, stomach flipping end over end as the woman of his affection stared for naught but a second, then averted her gaze.

“Does she know?”

“No,” Alistair began. “Absolutely not.”

Wynne smiled, but said nothing in response.

“No. There’s no way,” he stared, stuttering beneath the mage’s cool stare. “I mean, how would she? Why? She has no reason to suspect anything and I've not spoken to her about it.”

The mage parted his shoulder. “Maybe you should. It would save you both time and awkwardness.”

“Maybe I like being awkward?” Alistair retorted with a laugh.

“Trust me, Alistair, nobody else in camp does.”

An appalled gasp whipped through the camp as Alistair gaped at Wynne. When she scoffed, he scowled at her, eyes narrowing and hackles rising. “You talk about us?”

“So?”

“I thought gossip was beneath you mages,” he said.

Wynne shrugged. “It’s hardly gossip when everyone knows the truth.”

Arms folded across his chest, Alistair turned back to the fire to find Amodisia still sitting alone but for Ser Barksalot. “I hate you.”

“Because you know I’m right,” she retorted over her shoulder, stalking away for her tent.

 _Because you’re full of druffalo dung_.

While Wynne read him like an open book, Alistair failed to fathom how she had perceived the same in Amodisia. As he watched the mage sitting by the fire, knees pulled to her chest and chin resting atop her folded hands, he pondered the possibility that Wynne may be on to something.

Brilliant green eyes found his and for the first time, they stared, neither averting their attention nor interrupted by companions. Uninhibited, they lingered there, enraptured by their mutual gaze. And in the span of a heartbeat, Alistair committed.

Across the camp he stomped, eyes never leaving hers. Amodisia gaped like a fish out of water as he stopped at her feet, then sat beside her, closer than ever before. That close, her earthen soap filled his nose, a heady mixture of moss and lyrium that spun his head.

“Alistair, what are you doing?”

Jaw set and arms folded across his chest, he spoke. “Do you like me?”

Amodisia's teeth clicked shut as she recoiled, eyes widening and brow rising. And then her gaze slid from his, falling to the fire for a silent moment that bore into the pit of Alistair’s stomach. Fingers shaking, she grasped the end of a brown curl and picked, twirling and twisting until she spoke.

“I do. Do you like me?”

He nodded as he replied. “Yes.”

“Oh,” she started. “That’s… interesting.”

“It is?”

She returned her gaze to his, a small smile spreading across her lips. “I didn’t realize the feeling was mutual. What made you think to ask?”

Wynne's tent remained still and silent, but the sting in Alistair’s cheeks seeped to his neck, the fine hairs standing stiff. “Wise advice, given freely, but unrequested.”

Amodisia giggled, hand covering her mouth. “Oh, dear, Wynne got into your head, didn’t she?”

“Why does everyone seem to think my feelings are in the realm of public discussion?”

She laughed at that, a bark that echoed through the camp. “Oh no, I asked her about you. I thought I might be seeing something that wasn’t there.”

“Something that wasn’t there?” he asked.

His fellow warden looked to the fire once more, searching. “You look to me for guidance. For leadership. At first, I thought you simply wanted me to be in charge of our mission. But then you helped me with my nightmares. And every time I felt unsure of myself, you supported me.”

He’d do those things for any new Warden.

Right?

“But that was just the beginning,” she continued. “The way you smile at me. Your eyes light up like fire when I catch you staring. Our casual conversations are so easy. And you make me laugh.”

Alistair scrunched his nose. “Glad my clumsy awkwardness makes you laugh.”

Another of her bright giggles filled his ears. “It’s more than that, though. You’ve kept my spirits so high through this entire ordeal. I am forever grateful it was you that Duncan recruited. Even if you are a royal bastard.”

He laughed with her, marveling in her sharp wit. But that meant Wynne knew the truth of it. “I feel the same way about you. When Duncan put me in charge of recruits before Ostagar, I was less than pleased. But the second I met you… and you actually laughed at my terrible joke. Maker’s breath, I knew I was in trouble.”

Amodisia smiled, but said nothing, allowing the crackling fire and night creatures of the woods to speak in her stead. And in that pristine calm, a moment so rare for the two Wardens, Alistair breathed a sigh of relief, tension melting like a spring thaw.

“I think,” he started, choosing his words with great care, “I like you more than a friend. More than a warden, or a traveling companion.”

“Me, too, Alistair.”

The warmth of her hand enveloped his, smoothing the backs of his fingers with a soft touch of her thumb. “Your hands are huge.”

He blinked, once, twice, before her words registered, then turned his palm to hers and held her hand. “Yours are quite small.”

“Compared to yours, any hand his small, Andraste's tits, look at them,” she stated as she compared their hands.

A laugh burst from his chest as Alistair doubled over. “Did you just curse? I don’t think I've ever heard you curse.”

“You should see me when I'm drunk,” she replied with a giggle of her own. “I use _fuck_ like it’s a comma.”

“You'll have to teach me such versatile use of the word,” he jested. “I'm not as well practiced it seems.”

A scrutinizing sideways glare of her emerald green eyes met his humor. “Alistair Theirin, are you flirting with me?”

“Er, no,” he stammered. “I mean, yes. Maybe. Maferath's balls, I don’t know.”

“You are too cute when you’re flustered,” Amodisia said as she stood. He followed her, shooting to his feet in a dizzying rush. “But I need to get some rest. More travel ahead.”

“You're right,” he agreed. “But before you go…”

He cupped her cheek, fingers slipping into her curls, and then leaned to kiss the other. Tension lanced along his fingers as his lips met her skin, and the softest sigh escaped her lips.

“Goodnight, Amodisia.”

“Guh—goodnight, Alistair.”


End file.
